Heart of the Elvenking
by Nieriel Raina
Summary: A collection of short stories focusing on Thranduil, his interactions with his family and life in Mirkwood.
1. Home for an Elvenking

**Rating: G**

**Summary: **With the Shadow turning Greenwood to Mirkwood, Thranduil must relocate his people from the Mountains to a new home.

**Home for an Elvenking**

**By Nieriel Raina**

_**Mountains of Mirkwood**_

_**Year 1067, Third Age**_

Thranduil paced before the small fire, anxious for word. He marched miles in the twenty-foot across room before the flickering light as the logs burned down to nothing but embers. It had been days – nay, weeks! — and still no word. They had not the time for delays. Something must be done soon.

For nearly two decades the Shadow had grown over his beloved mountains. Inch by inch, foot by foot, tree by tree, the Greenwood became known as Mirkwood. Evil creatures infested the lands where Oropher had moved the people long ago. Beautiful and deadly, many silky webs ten feet in diameter hung from once green trees, now shadowed and gnarled. His people fought hard with spear and bow, but daily they lost ground.

It had been one of the hardest decisions he had ever made as king, to concede the mountains were lost and to look for another home far from the Shadow. Already they had lost too many in the dark shadows under trees that had once been filled with light and song. The evil crept nearer, and Thranduil had his own family to consider. He had lost his father and his eldest son in the battle before the Black Gate; he would be damned if he lost another member of his family to the Shadow.

Swallowing hard, he turned on his heel and paced the other direction. Once the decision had been made, he had become impatient to see it done, to see his people removed to a safer home. To see his family free to enjoy the forest as elves were meant to do. He itched to be out there, searching, but such was not his place or his duty. And so when he could not take the waiting any longer, he paced, back and forth, back and forth, each day feeling as if it were a Long Year.

Finally, a knock resounded in the empty chamber, Thranduil's haven when he wished to pace and think. "Come," he called, fearing it was simply another mundane request.

To his surprise, one of the scouts entered, his boots ringing on the wooden floor. _Finally!_

"My lord!" Rifgaron bowed then stood. Was that a glow of excitement in the scout's eyes?

"Well?" Thranduil asked, forcing himself to sound disinterested, though his heart raced with hope.

Rifgaron's voice was filled with enthusiasm. "My lord, I have found a place!"

A thrill ran down Thranduil's spine. "Oh?" He kept his face a mask of indifference, but something spoke to him, some smell emanating from the scout's clothing called to him.

"Far from here, to the north at the edge of the wood. The trees still sing and the land is green and bright. And there is a hill…" Rifgaron's voice trailed off as Thranduil narrowed his eyes.

"A hill?" The last place they had lived had been on a hill – a hill that now bore a dark tower and felt so evil none would travel within miles of it.

The scout gulped. "Not just a hill, my lord. It is riddled with stone caverns. And the trees are strong and tall. With some work, it would make a fine home…" A smile tugged at Rifgaron's lips. "It reminded me of the old tales, my lord. Of Menengroth."

Thranduil raised a brow, showing more interest. Caverns would be easier to defend. Even now, some of the people dwelt in caves. "Go on," he encouraged.

"Before the hill runs a small river, pure and swift, its banks lined with beech and oak. There is only one entrance to the caverns on the other side of the river…."

Something deep within him responded to the description. He held up his hand, bringing the other's words to a halt. A slow smile spread his across his face, and Thranduil slipped to a corner and grabbed the pack he had prepared days ago. "Show me."

The scout blinked. "My lord?"

But Thranduil had already slipped the pack on his back, grabbed his bow and quiver and headed for the door. "We'll stop in the kitchen for provisions. Come."

A hand rubbing the back of his neck and a frown marring his face, Rifgaron followed.

—

The hill turned out to be everything Rifgaron had said. But even more, the land spoke to Thranduil, and refreshed him. This would be a home worthy of defending, with its mighty trees, plentiful game and a hill that could easily be converted into a fortress, if he could persuade the dwarves to help him. That thought caused him some unease, but he had jewels enough in the treasury that would buy the dwarves' labor, for his people were not trained to delve into stone. And they would need a pair of great doors to serve as a gate at the entrance, warded by charms…

Even now he could see them swinging open at his spoken word, and behind him, a wooden bridge spanning the rushing water.

"It will do."

— o —

**Several Years Later….**

"Ada!"

The voice reached him from over the rushing waters. He paused, and the returning hunting party halted, many of them, though weary, with amused grins on their faces. Thranduil continued between the trees lining the path alone. Many years had passed since he had first seen this place. But ever did it commune with him and hum with life. Even the stones sang.

A few strides from the bridge, he stooped to one knee and held out his arms.

A flash of gold darted towards him; little feet pounded the wooden planks, then launched his youngest son into his arms. "Legolas." Thranduil placed a kiss to the golden head.

"Welcome home, Ada!"

Oh, it was good to be home.


	2. Transformed

**Rating: PG-13 for some implied sexual content between married persons**

**Summary: Thranduil takes his wife to their new home in northern Greenwood with a plan in mind that will change their lives.**

**Transformed**

**By Nieriel Raina**

_**Northeastern Mirkwood**_

_**Year 1075, Third Age**_

_**Early Spring**_

"Come."

Laerwen followed Thranduil down a slope through a grove of young beech trees just beginning to shimmer with new green leaves. Beyond them, she could hear a river flowing. As they drew near it, the sun glinted off the rushing water flowing under a small wooden bridge. Further upstream she could see where the larger bridge was still under construction.

With her hand clasped tightly in his, they crossed the tumbling stream and climbed up a hidden path. It wound up the side of the mountain, and they traveled a good distance before he halted her, inserting some a key into a lock only revealed when a stone was pushed to the side. Then he quietly spoke a soft word, and her eyes widened as a door opened into the mountain. She had not even seen it! It appeared to be part of the mountain itself.

_Dwarf doors, _she thought, remembering Thranduil's explanation for the dwindling treasury. He had hired dwarves to delve the mountain halls that would be their home.

She followed him into the darkness, shivering as the rock slipped closed behind them. She could feel the weight of the stone above them, the pitch black choking the life from her so that she nearly screamed in defiance of being so far from the sky and the wind. But then Thranduil spoke another word and torches sprang to life, lighting their path down a roughly hewn corridor, and she bit back her terror of being so far underground. It was not natural, but had they any choice? She looked up at her chosen mate. And she _**had**_ vowed to follow him anywhere.

Reaching up, she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, but he turned and captured her lips in a far more passionate kiss. Breathless, she pushed him back. "Thranduil!" she protested, quite aware of his amorous state.

He chuckled deep in his chest. "There is no one here. This is a private entrance to what will be our chambers." His dimple flashed, warning her of his intentions. "But it's much more comfortable there than here."

He led her onwards, until they came to a plain oak door. He unlocked it with another key, and he ushered her inside. There, she found that the cavern she had seen only once before had been transformed into splendid accommodations for the two of them. Tapestries of forest glades and elves dancing under the starlight hung on nearly every wall, hiding the stone and making it feel as if she were in wide open spaces.

Above, sunlight trickled down from some complex system of lighting that Thranduil had devised with the dwarves using mirrors and crystals and the far wall held a wide open window that opened out to a balcony, hidden from view below and easily sealed off if they were to come under attack. It made the room feel far more open and more like the hall where they had lived in the mountains rather than a room beneath a mountain of stone.

Laerwen turned her eyes to the room itself, the furnishings of polished oak, and the bed… She gasped as her eyes came to rest on the deep green coverings that graced a raised feather bed. It looked so soft! So…inviting.

She did not protest when he led her towards it, his fingers nimbly unfastening her dress as they went. Indeed, she applied her own fingers to the task of undressing his powerful form, marveling at the muscles revealed as she pushed his tunic from his shoulders.

"I thought here," he whispered in her ear. "Here in this new place we might —" He swallowed hard.

She glanced up, catching a glimmer of something she had not seen in his eyes for many years. She had not thought to ever see it again, though she had dared to hope. "Are you certain?" she asked.

He nodded. "Only if you wish it as well." He dropped his eyes, his fingers stilling.

Laerwen smiled compassionately at his hesitance. He had been so cautious and somewhat distant with their sons, still feeling the loss of Faervel and his father during that horrible War so long ago. He had felt he had failed as a father and had feared to repeat such. He was different with Anoriel, and perhaps… Perhaps another child was exactly what he needed. "Anoriel will be ecstatic. There will be no living with her until the child is born."

Thranduil's eyes snapped to hers, hope lighting them. Tracing his jaw with one hand, she leaned forward and kissed him, as with the other she let her dress fall to the floor where it pooled around her feet. "Take me to our bed," she whispered, letting her hand slide down his chest. "And let us show our people there is yet to hope for in this, our new home."

His eyes sparked with some of the mischievousness he had once been well known for, and he swept her up into his arms, carried her to the bed and laid her down and once again made her his.

An hour later, she laid with her head on his chest, her gaze on a small sapling just in view of the window, a single green bud beginning to unfurl on its upper branch, and she smiled.


	3. Whatever Harm Encroached

**Summary:** A hunter searches for his prey in the frozen forest of Mirkwood during the Long Winter of 2759.  
**Rating: PG**

**Whatever Harm Encroached**

**By Nieriel Raina**

_**The Long Winter**_

_**Early February, Year 2759 Third Age **_

The tall figure moved stealthily through the frozen wood, making no sound as he stalked his prey amid the bare trees covered in ice and snow. His golden hair was pulled into a single braid, which hung down his back over his dark grey tunic. His eyes were cold and calculating, their green depths revealing age and wisdom belying his youthful appearance, and not missing a single snowflake that drifted on the light wind. In one hand he held both his bow and a single arrow; there would be no movement of drawing from his quiver to give him away. His prey would never see him at all, not until it was too late to flee.

Slowly, step by step he moved, his boot clad feet leaving no tracks in the deep snow. His lithe frame blended in with the dark trees, his grey and black clothing lost in the landscape of snow and shadow. Not even his scent would give him away for he approached from upwind and he smelled of the forest in which he hunted. He stopped as his eyes fell upon the one he had pursued since morning.

His prey stood just ahead in a break in the forest, its white coat blending in with the snow covered ground. Its cloven hooves dug through the snow, pausing as the agile lips and teeth searched the bared ground for frozen grass on which to sustain it through the bitter winter. But the stag would not need to suffer any longer from the cold and icy conditions. Instead, it would become nourishment for those dwelling in the Elvenking's Halls.

The season had been longer and colder than many could remember, even though some, including the hunter, had lived for millennia. It was unsettling that there had been no signs to warn them of the deep winter, which had settled on the wood shortly after the leaves had fallen. The usual stores had become severely depleted shortly after the solstice. Many villagers had sought refuge in the halls, the severe cold driving them to seek additional shelter and, hopefully, food, since the harsh weather had driven most of the deer herds south. The lack of provisions for the people drove every available hunter into the woods seeking whatever game could be found.

And so, the old hunter had left the warmth of the halls, joining the others out in the frozen wood in the search for food. It was his duty to protect the people from whatever harm encroached upon them, even cold and hunger. Slowly, he bent his bow, the single arrow notched and aimed for the stag's heart. The arrow flew true, dropping the deer quickly, causing it no suffering. The hunter moved to its side, murmuring words of thanks to the animal for providing for his people. He gutted it and hoisted it upon his shoulders, making his way back to the halls as swiftly as he could manage.

The gates to the caverns swung open at a word from the tall elf, and those inside gathered round, relieving him of his burden. Cheers were uttered, but he merely blushed and waved them to silence, a small smile on his face as he made his way to his quarters to change and warm himself.

Sitting in a chair before the hearth, Thranduil removed his boots and stretched his feet towards the fire. Despite the lingering cold in his limbs, his heart was warm. His people were fed for the night. He would return to the hunt in the morning. The winter would not defeat them any more than the Shadow…at least not if he had anything to do with it. Sighing in contentment, his eyes lost focus as he drifted into elven dreams.

The door to the chambers cracked open just enough for a slim figure to slip through. He was also dressed in hunter's garb and he rubbed his hands together to warm them as he crossed the room. He paused at the chair, looking down upon the dozing king with an amused smile. Covering Thranduil with a blanket, the younger elf leaned over to place a kiss upon his brow.

"Sleep well, Adar. I will wake you for the meal," he whispered softly.

Silently, Legolas crossed the room, pausing at the door to whisper once more. "You are a good king."

A peaceful smile tugged at Thranduil's lips as the door quietly clicked shut.

**: - :**


	4. Hold To Hope

**summary: **Dispairing news often brings fear...but it is how we respond that counts.  
**Rating: G**

**Hold To Hope**

_**By Nieriel Raina**_

_**Mirkwood**_

_**Elven King's Halls**_

_**Late December Year 3018 Third Age**_

A single horn sounded, its notes announcing the arrival of riders. Dropping the papers Thranduil had been perusing, he rose quickly and made his way to the entrance of the halls. The horses were milling just across the bridge, the riders preparing to dismount. Thranduil's eyes scanned them quickly, looking for the one that would set his heart at ease, but he failed to find who he sought. Instead, his eyes came to rest on the one at the head of the group he had sent to Imladris more than two months ago. The warrior met his eyes across the distance with obvious reluctance.

Thranduil strode across the bridge without breaking that eye contact. "Tathar? Where is he?"

The dark haired warrior swallowed hard, dismounted and bowed. Was it Thranduil's imagination, or was Tathar having a hard time meeting his gaze? "He has not returned with us, my lord. He sent you a letter explaining his…mission."

Tathar handed a leather envelope to the king and watched with wary eyes as Thranduil scanned the parchment inside. From Legolas's first words, Thranduil felt great apprehension fill him. He read the words calmly, but his heart screamed in protest. Fear filled him, terror and panic almost driving him to run for his horse and go after his wayward son.

The realization that he was standing before a large group of his people stopped him from doing just that. Then anger descended upon him. He should not have read this letter in front of so many witnesses. They should not see their king in such distress or losing control. Thranduil steeled himself, forcing the anger and fear from his face. He looked up at the warrior standing before him with his head bowed as if waiting for judgment sure to follow such news.

_By the stars! Tathar blames himself and fears I do as well…_

"Did you try to stop him, Tathar?"

Tathar looked up with regret in his grey eyes. "I did, my lord, but he would not listen!"

A small, humorless smile turned Thranduil's lips. "Then you did all you could have, Tathar. I do not hold you to blame for my son's actions. Did he tell you why he went?"

Tathar snorted softly and shook his head in annoyance. "He insisted it was his destiny. That he _had_ to do this thing…for his people. He is much like you, my lord. Once he has made up his mind about something, there is no stopping him. I would have gone with him, but he forbade it."

Thranduil felt pride well up inside him. Yes, Legolas could be much like himself and that is what scared him the most. Had he not lost enough to the dark forces? A son, his wife… Must he grieve another loss? Thranduil did not know if he could bear it. Legolas would return. He had to believe that.

Focusing back on the warrior before him, he said, "What is done, is done. We must hold to hope that he will return to us safely, and do all we can to help in our own way. I sense…" He turned and looked to the south. "Darkness gathers, the Shadow spreads. It will soon be upon us, even here."

Thranduil dismissed the group and turned his eyes back southward, not looking towards the dark tower but in the direction his son would be going. Unexpected moisture blurred his vision a moment, but he blinked it away. He _must_ hold to hope and not give into fear. Legolas would return…he _had_ to return.

Turning, Thranduil crossed the bridge and entered the great gate, more determined than ever to see the Shadow removed from his lands. His feet took him to Legolas's room and he sat a long time on the bed, looking at the things gracing the dressing table and walls which his son held dear. His eyes came to rest upon Legolas's first bow, hanging above the door in a place of honor. Few were as competent with a bow than his youngest son, of this he was certain.

Standing, he reached for it and took it down from its hooks. He held the small bow reverently in his hands, his fingers caressing the ancient wood lightly as if by holding this piece of wood, he somehow held a piece of his son.

Sometime later, Thranduil left his son's quarters and returned to his own, the small bow still held in his hands. He placed it on one of the tables near his bed where he could see it, and there it would remain until Legolas returned.

"Be safe, my son," he whispered quietly before returning to his duties as king.


	5. Free To Live

**summary: **Thranduil goes to Dol Guldur after its destruction to see with his own eyes that the Shadow has been defeated.  
**Rating: PG**

Written for the 'A Time To…' challenge at the Royal Mirkwood Home Yahoo group. Each participant was asked to write a fic based in Mirkwood on one of the phrases from Ecclesiastes 3:1-8. I chose: 'a time to break down, and a time to build up', but you may find several others that work too.

**Free To Live**

**By Nieriel Raina**

_**Dol Guldur**_

_**Late April**_

_**Year 3019, Third Age**_

Thranduil stared at what remained of the fortress that had been a symbol of evil for half an Age. The tower of Dol Guldur had been reduced to a heap of rubble, its crumbled stone littering the ground on the hill of Amon Lanc, Thranduil's face reflected none of the ire he felt. He eyed the hilltop disdainfully. Though it was cleansed, it was no longer the home Oropher had settled when the land had been beautiful and full of hope. No elf would ever reside here again.

Here, in the southern reaches of that which men called Mirkwood, evil had run rampant; and for too many years, his people had retreated from it, fighting it, and holding it off as best they could. Now, the evil was banished. Sauron was defeated and the symbol of his power in the wood was destroyed.

But Thranduil felt no relief. This was _his_ wood; it should have been _his_ place to destroy the hideous reminder of so much Shadow! Yet… Could he have done what Galadriel had accomplished? Did he have the power to lay the evil to waste as she had? He did not know and cared not to examine his heart too closely for the truth.

Cloaking his dark emotions in dignity, Thranduil turned from the wreckage feeling hard, cold and very old. Numbness settled over him, seeing the tower destroyed being not quite enough to dissipate the dark emotions that had lingered for so long. And yet…

It was over. Evil was defeated. It was enough.

He took a step and then paused, his gaze taken by a tiny pair of leaves pushing up through the ground. A spark of joy kindled in his heart, a sudden surge of relief pushing away the resentment and anger that festered inside him. He stooped and touched the small leaves. Here was the proof that the Shadow was gone. Life sprouted and lifted its head towards the sun, unfettered by darkness, untwisted, and growing straight and true.

_Victory at last._

The thought resonated within him as he glanced again at the razed tower. When he had met Celeborn in the heart of the wood on the day of the New Year and he had been told of the assaults on Lórien and the attack on the tower, Thranduil had known he would need to see it, to make certain that it was done, that Amon Lanc was free of the Shadow. His meeting with Celeborn had gone much better than Thranduil expected, and he had been overjoyed to learn that his son yet lived and would be home before the first frost. That news alone had been enough to temper his ire when he was informed his son had befriended a dwarf. He even managed to ignore the mirth in Celeborn's eyes as he quickly scanned a letter from Legolas, confirming what he had been told.

Rising to his feet, Thranduil looked around him. Eryn Lasgalen they had named it — the Wood of Green Leaves. He stepped over the tiny sapling and avoided the joyful wood-elves in their frivolity at the foot of the hill. They deserved their celebrations and did not need a moody king to dampen their light hearted spirits.

Thranduil slipped beneath the diseased trees surrounding the hill, finding more and more evidence that the Shadow had lifted. Here and there spring flowers sprouted. The new growth on the twisted trees was straight and true.

It was truly over.

Tears unheeded fell from his eyes as all the suppressed emotion poured out of him and the darkness inside himself was shed at long last. As the cleansing tears fell, he realized it did not matter who had banished the final evil in the wood. The Lady would be leaving, sailing West; her work over. It was time for restoration. The time of destruction was past; the time to rebuild had come. And that was something Thranduil did have the power to achieve!

Touching the trees as he walked, he whispered comfort to the twisted boughs, and as he walked, Thranduil began to look to the future. He would not abandon this wood that he loved so deeply, nor his people who had fought so long and hard to see this done. These trees would be healed, all traces of darkness would be driven from the wood, and the wood-elves would once again be free to live their lives in peace.

_Peace. _

Yes, it would be a time of peace and joy, and he was one who planned to enjoy it.

Thranduil strode back into the midst of the singing and dancing warriors that had accompanied him south. He pretended not to notice the looks of amazement on the faces of his men as he beamed, joy written plainly in his countenance. He lifted a wine skin, taking a huge swallow, before setting it down and clapping and singing with the others.

_Peace. _

A time of cleansing, laughter and joy — a time to start over and begin anew after evil had destroyed so much. A time to build up, not just the land, but each other.

Slipping into the circle of twirling and leaping elves, Thranduil joined the victory dance.


	6. Forest Assault!

**Summary: Post ROTK. As Thranduil makes his way south past the Mountains of Mirkwood to meet with Celeborn, he is attacked and must deal with the culprits. **

**Forest Attack!**

**Eryn Lasgalen**

**3021 Third Age**

Thranduil looked down at the rock at his feet. It had landed there after nearly hitting him. He cast his senses outwards, searching for any possible assailant. There was nothing — nothing but the steady hum of life from the forest. On this incline, it was possible the rock could have just come lose and rolled down the hill, he supposed, but the thing had been airborne, as if thrown.

He shrugged and continued on his way, ignoring the nagging doubt at his having insisted on traveling without an escort. His reasoning had been that he would move faster and with less notice. Now he was jumping at shadows that were not even there! _Bah! Been away from this part of the forest too long is all._

The forest had matured and become more beautiful since the fires that had nearly destroyed parts of it eight years ago. With the burning of all the thick undergrowth, the trees had more room to grow. Small flowers painted the dappled spots of sunlight along the sides of the path, where before had only been gloom and darkness. So much had changed. These places had once been murky and covered in Shadow, though the trees here, just south of the Mountains, had not been twisted to their cores as those closer to Dol Guldur. To see them full of light and green again brought great joy to his heart.

How he wished he had time to stop and commune with all of Eryn Lasgalen as he passed through! The weather was perfect, too early for the heat of summer but far enough into spring and the Awakening that life rejoiced and flourished all around him. But his meeting with Celeborn could not be delayed. His kinsman would be leaving East Lórien to dwell with his grandsons in Imladris. They needed to discuss what would become of the southern wood. Thranduil had no wish to extend his protection that far south, past the parts of the wood given over to the Woodmen and Beorings. The Shadow of Dol Guldur, — that broken tower that had stood on the spot where Oropher had built their first home — still lingered in his heart, if not at Amon Lanc. Just a pile of rubble on a hill now, but forever tainted to his mind. He wanted nothing to do with it.

A pinecone bounced off his shoulder and rolled to a stop a short distance ahead of him. He froze for a split second then spun around, his sharp eyes searching among the trees. Nothing. Not a sound, not a breath of wind stirred the branches. Not even a hint of birdsong… Thranduil narrowed his eyes. It was _too_quiet.

And then a wind gusted over the wood, stirring the trees, bringing with it the song of birds, the stirring of small creatures and the rustling of the trees. Odd. Could it be he had become too used to traveling with an escort? Was he reading too much into these small interruptions to his journey? Was it so unlikely a pinecone would fall and land on him? He snorted and resumed his trip south, picking up his pace and keeping his thoughts more closely attuned to his surroundings. Peace they may have, but the forest still hid many dangers.

The acorn that smacked him between the eyes was a bit less likely than the pine cone — as was the branch that popped him on the backside a moment later. He stopped and glared around him. He was not imagining things. The forest itself was assailing him!

"I do not have time for this," Thrandul grumbled aloud.

The closest fir tree rustled indignantly. Thranduil crossed his arms and glared at it. "I have business to attend to!" he said.

A nearby oak groaned in resentment. He threw up his hands in exasperation. "I have a meeting!"

Another acorn bounced off his head, followed by a high pitched chatter. Glancing up, he blinked as an irate squirrel shook its paw at him. A splat sounded on his tunic as a bluebird dove back up into the trees. He could have sworn he heard a beech laughing.

"There is no need to assault me," he said dryly, using a fallen leaf to remove the bird dropping. Of all the things he had anticipated on this journey, being attacked _by_the forest had not been one of them! "I am just passing through. I shall be gone before you know it and will not trouble you on my retur—"

A stag materialized from the wood, his antlers lowered. It snorted, pawing at the ground. Thranduil stepped back against the oak, glancing up to see the closest limb if he needed to take to the trees. He held out his hand in a placating manner. "Now, there is no reason for hostility. I have done nothing…"

And then it hit him — that was it: he had done nothing. He and his people had abandoned this part of the wood. Could it be the wood resented that? The oak pushed him forward. A badger grunted near his feet. A swallow darted past his ear.

"Is that it?" he asked. "It is not that you resent my presence so much as you resent the lack of it?"

The trees began rustling and swaying. The squirrels chattered. The birds dove and sang. The stag raised his head and gazed at him, the dark noble eyes agreeing. Thranduil felt his heart pound painfully.

"Forgive me, my friends." He stepped forward, a hand outstretched. The stag met Thranduil's hand with his cold, wet nose. A bluebird landed on his shoulder. The trees echoed with a joyful song…

Celeborn would just have to wait.


	7. Where Once My Enemy Stood

**summary: **Thranduil contemplates his enemy...

**1st place 2007 MEFA Races: Elves, Fixed Length Ficlet**

Written for the Middle Earth Express Prompt: Enemy. Exactly 500 words.

**Where Once My Enemy Stood**

_**By Nieriel Raina**_

_**Year 8, Fourth Age**_

He is my enemy. That is what I have always been taught. I heard it from those who witnessed the destruction of Doriath first hand! Their kind are greedy, untrustworthy, unkempt and rude! They are nothing like us.

There have been times when they had to be tolerated, but never have I trusted them, nor endured them for long. I would have seen them forever expelled from our realm! But that was before…

Much that once was, is no more. The war changed more than the land and rulers, even our people have changed, and we are not a people who change easily. It all began with one… one single enemy who found a place - dare I even voice it? - in my own son's heart!

The shock of that day still shakes me to the core of my being. My own son, raised by my own hand, had seemingly betrayed us… betrayed me! Ai! The pain, the words spoken in anger when he brought that creature home. He had assured it welcome in our lands and I could not turn it away without dishonoring myself and my son. In my eyes, though, Legolas had already dishonored himself.

For a good while, animosity flowed between that creature and myself over the one we loved. Never were kind words spoken, in fact we avoided one another at all costs. I found it well that Legolas had removed himself to Ithilien, for I would not be forced to endure its presence. What a fool I was to cut myself off from one I so loved, just to avoid an enemy.

Many years passed before I was forced to face the truth. Regardless of what I had been taught, what I believed, it was my enemy who supported my son through much turmoil and danger. It was my enemy who fought beside Legolas and tended his wounds. It was my enemy who held my son's hand as he battled the sea. My enemy…

Pride can be a great asset to a king and a warrior, but it can also be a terrible detriment. Alas, how many years have I wasted, how much hurt have I caused? And all because I could not see what my son had seen all along. My enemy is not my foe. He is not what I had been taught to believe he was. He is kind, creative, a true friend who values my greatest treasure more than I have done.

And so with much difficulty, I laid down my prejudice and pride. I laid down the anger and harsh words, and made an effort to get to know him. And I have been greatly surprised! Few creatures are more intelligent or witty than a dwarf! True their manners are lacking, but are such things truly so important? Nay, friendship, loyalty, love… these are what last and matter. And today, dare I say it? Dare I admit it? Where once my enemy stood, I now see a friend.

**: - :**


End file.
